Bad Company Until The Day I Die

to wish its path along
that great brown jug that stood
its statuary foot a lamp, o
tall and fleeting mood

how tall can arches be erected?
how tall can woven trees be grown?
how hard would it be

to take up green cloth in the valley
call oneself a druid
grow shaggy
wise
and make model storms of crooked sticks
grass stairs leading up into sod bowl plazas
of choirs
choirs of the naked
blind in the night

the moon a pitch tree
the stars an astrolabia
strange animals
hang heavy iron cubes
from their eyelids
into oracular pools
of purple ink

drag and sling the cubes on paper
pull flesh from giant clams

genitals i am
circus

hay

white water rapids
taken on
with an altar

of wild
uncompromising
torso

thing mandarin egg thinker
your batwing eyebrow cameras whistle
like blow holes along erotic cell strings

a haute rotary gyroscopic tummy drum
is bleating

there is a kind of poetry
like

sex with head inside

turbo